Wildlings
by Rooscha
Summary: Optimus Prime rules Cyberton as an absolute, violent monarch. He takes care of those under his rule, so long as they properly submit to his authority. The Wildlings, mechanoids who chose to live on the fringes of society, will no longer be tolerated. The Wildlings must submit to his ultimate authority and meld into the society he so carefully cultivates. Dark, AU, Violent, SG-esque


"Sir, the wildlings are getting out of control again. One of the energon stores on the edge of the Praxian wilderness was raided again." Prowl stated quietly, kneeling in front of his Prime in the throne room. His door wings were pulled close to his body, subconsciously letting his superior know his mood. The other mechs in the room were much the same.

"And why were they not detected long before they reached the edge of the Praxian Wilderness?" The Prime's tones were heavily veiled with threat. He was the end all and be all for his people and he was not one to suffer fools or incompetents under his reign.

Prowl mulled the words in his processor for almost a full breem before answering. His Prime was patient in few things, but allowing his underlings time to think before speaking was one. Prowl had a sneaking suspicion that it saved Prime from having to dole out more punishment than he already did. A mech only has so much energy, even the holder of the Matrix.

"The majority of my forces are currently stationed in Kaon, my Lord Prime. The mines there are undergoing many structural challenges, both internally and externally. General Smokescreen had requested more units to ensure that the transition goes as smoothly as possible." Prowl's doorwings shrunk even closer to his body. His Prime may choose to take out his displeasure in a multitude of ways. None of which would be pleasant.

Prowl's optics were focused steadfastly on the gleaming black floor of the throne room, not daring to look up at his commander. A flash light against plating was all the warning he received before he was wrested off his pedes and slammed back against the dark floor. Tiles scraped against his pinned doorwings, the glass scraping against the rough surface. A low whine escaped his vocals before he was able to call it back.

Cold blue optics bore into his own, forcing Prowl to yet again drop his gaze and stare at his Prime's midsection. Prime had dropped him to his back, long powerful legs straddling his frame with ease. The Prime had several feet and many hundreds of pounds on the smaller General, making his physical domination easy. The mental domination came almost as easy, the smaller mech knowing that his Prime was not in a mood to be trifled with. The hand blocking his throat intakes squeezed in warning and Prowl forced his doorwings to relax into the rough texture of the tiles at his back. For a long moment, he forced himself to relax in submission, allowing his Prime to dictate his frame position.

"Allow me to express my displeasure with your decision, Prowl," The baritone rumbled through the younger mech's frame, but the the hand blocking his vent moved. Prowl tried to resist gasping to clear his vents, but failed. Hot air rushed between the two mechs, letting his dominator know how desperate he had been for fresh, cool air. He could feel the Prime's smirk, despite not looking at the other mech.

"Deciding to place almost all of your mechs in Kaon was a underestimation of how much they were needed in the Praxian Wilderness. The Wildlings have been creeping towards the edges of Praxus for quite some time. Kaon, on the other hand, has been a pit hole. It will always be a pit hole," The Prime's large hand traced up Prowl's neck and helm, almost like a lover, tracing his chevron gently. "Perhaps it would have been much smarter to move several units of the Elite Guard to Kaon, instead of sending fully trained reconnaissance mechs to look over a few whining pit-spawned miners."

The hand moved from his chevron, tracing back down the side of Prowl's face. The gentleness of the fingers made a shiver travel down his back strut. He had been beaten ruthlessly by these hands for less grievous errors than this one, making him feel deeply on edge. When the hand spread out over the joint between his doorwing and his back, he stiffened, finally realizing how upset the Prime truly was.

"Forty six energon cubes vanished without a trace this time, my General," The Prime's voice rose, along with his torso to address the room at large. "That is sixteen more than the last time the Wildlings managed to raid our stores. Does no one understand that all it takes to fell an Empire is one little petro-rat eating the crumbs? They start with the smallest crumbs they can get away with, but soon they grow more bold, taking anything and everything the Empire doesn't have eyes on." By the end of his sentence, Prime's anger was evident to every mech in the room.

"Luckily for you, General, I have already ordered your units back from Kaon, and allowed my Elite Guard to take their place. This serves two purposes, you see?" The hand fondled the wing joint on Prowl's back sensuously. Pleasure rocked through him, but it was empty pleasure; knowing that Prime wanted this to hurt as badly as possible. Make him relax, then strike when he was at his most vulnerable.

"The first is that the miners of Kaon will know that their Prime is watching them and watching over them. This should equally strike fear and comfort in their sparks. Those who abide my rule have nothing to fear from me. Isn't that right, General?" Prowl nodded, his neck cabling tight, knowing that this pain was only a precursor to what his Prime had planned for him.

"The second is that the mechs who are trained for reconnaissance will be where they are needed most, looking for the Wildlings. Those damn miners are too large and too stupid to need to be spied upon. The Elite Guard will…speak a more familiar language to these mechs."

"Now, Prowl, don't you see? If you had deigned to use your processor, or come to me for help, we wouldn't be in this mess, now would we?" At Prowl's head shake, Prime's huge hand tightened on the joint in his wing.

And he tore viciously. Mech blood splashed across the black floor, glowing brightly.

With a guttural scream of pain, Prowl threw his helm back and made optic contact with his Lord Prime. For a moment, his cry of pain was nearly choked by a spray of his own energon as the Prime held his own doorwing above his faceplate. Thick energon dripped down the wiring of his missing wing, splashing down his intake.

The Prime dropped the heavy of chunk of metal on the floor next to his thick thigh, demonstrating how little the precious metal of another mech meant to him. As Prowl writhed on the floor in pain, the ornate mech above him rose with an ethereal grace. The glow of his spark and the Matrix lit the dim space, making him appear to be like an avatar of the oldest tales on Cybertron. Lit with a fire that emanated from within.

"Clean that up and get him out of my sight. Ratchet, be a sweetspark and don't use any pain medications on our dear General. We want to make sure that he remembers his lesson in submitting to his Prime." Ratchet's helm dipped to his Prime as the blue and red plated mech passed. The CMO may have strong opinions in private, but he was no fool. Once the Prime activated the Matrix with his anger, he was more likely to condone and participate in more bloodletting.

Several mechs rushed to Prowl, hefting him to his pedes and following Ratchet out the double doors of the throne room. Bluestreak stopped on the way out to pick up his commanding officer's doorwing, wiping up the spilt energon as best he could. Before he rose from his knees, the young mech pressed his helm to the floor in the Prime's direction, showing his near deity the respect and submission he so demanded. Then the small mech removed himself from the throne room.

"The wildlings are becoming a rampant issue," A small voice near the side of the chamber rang through the room. The massive Prime merely shifted his helm ever so slightly to the side, indicating that he would listen to the bot in the shadows.

"They are growing bolder. My sources say that it is possible that a change in leadership may have occurred. I would suggest that we tighten security around the energon storage units in the Praxian wilderness and elsewhere on the fringes of society." An aging femme stepped out of the darkness; her plating was dull but her optics were as bright as the day she was sparked.

"It is done. If any wildlings are seen, I want them brought to me unharmed. It is time to make an example of these lowlifes and thieves." The Prime's helm moved to gaze out the window to his left. The Praxian forest was far in the distance, but he could see much of his kingdom from the heights of the royal apartments. He knew that some bots chose to live on the fringes of society. Until these raids began drawing attention, he was more or less able to turn a blind optic. But now…

* * *

"We got so much in that last raid! I was dead certain it was a trap, but you were right," The midnight blue femme rambled, nearly jumping in her excitement. "You're always right. You should try being wrong once in a while." She jabbed her companion in the side playfully.

"When I am wrong, my people die. I try very, very hard to not be wrong." The dark pink femme replied, walking tall and proud next to the blue femme. "Besides, Chromia, why would I need to be wrong when I have you to be wrong for me?" Chromia threw a poorly aimed punch towards her companion, which was easily dodged by the older femme.

"In all seriousness, that was a great raid. I couldn't have done it without you. And now we will all get to eat for a while longer. I'm trying to get all of us a little more stable than we were under Moonracer. This is no way for anyone to live," The pink femme stopped in the middle of a roughly hewn chamber, reaching out to trace her fingers down the damp wall. "This cave is going to make us all sick. Our vents can't clean this air well enough. Half of the femmes already have problems venting. We need to find a new shelter, get an energon storage unit somehow."

The blue femme vented heavily, leaning on the arm of the pink femme next to her.

"Would you please just enjoy the moment, Elita? We have energon, a roof over our heads and we are safe for the moment. Enjoy this." The pink and blue femmes leaned against once another for a long moment, soaking in each other's company. Though not connected by spark, both considered the other a sister.

Elita lifted her helm off the other's shoulder. "I just have a bad feeling, Chromia. We need to move as soon as possible. Who knows when that damnable Prime will come after us again?"


End file.
